Sage

We pound through each room, finding them empty. Fucking empty. My anger grows with each door that flies open to another vacant room. No signs of Brook or Wells. “Sage!” Ringer calls out from the other side of the apartment complex. I instantly run toward his voice, coming to an abrupt halt when I see what he’s holding. Bloody sheets. “Looks like the fucker got out before we got here. She’s gone, man,” Ringer tells me as I rip the bedding from his hand. It’s a lot of blood—too much. The beating in my chest speeds up as dread settles like lead in the base of my stomach. The images that flash in my mind are enough to have my temperature rising to dangerous heights.

“Spread the fuck out. He had to have left something behind. A trail. Something.” Looking back at the soiled linen, I toss it harshly to the floor, telling myself the reason for the blood is because of her now missing pinky finger. It’s just from the finger. That fucker hasn’t touched—

My fist slams into the closest wall, causing the drywall to break apart and explode in a plume of chalky dust. My fist lands two more times before I pull back and shake away the powdered covered blood that rolls down my arm. “He took her out the window. Must have had a car stashed somewhere. We didn’t see any when we came up. Probably in a garage or something.” Ringer comes to my side once again. “Jake thinks maybe he had a tip off.”

“I want to talk to Brock,” I snap and storm outside to the dark night, straight to my bike, ready to tear apart the one person who said Wells would be here.

* * *

“Jesus. Why the fuck would I come all this way, to the fucking club, and betray you again! What kind of fucking death wish do you think I have?” Brock yells as I round the chair he’s tied to. I don’t respond. I’m not here to interrogate.

“Blood for blood, Brock,” I crouch down eye level with the man who helped our Chicago brothers tear apart this club for greed. Reaching down to my boot, I take out my knife and flip it open. Instantly, the man pales, knowing I’m not fucking around.

“Sage—” I cut off his plea when I take his pinky in my hand and start sawing away at the flesh with the other. The scream he lets out rings in my ears, but I keep going, blood pouring over his lap and down to the floor, splattering on my boots, but I don’t give a fuck. When my knife hits bone, I press harder, and with a flick of my wrist and the crunch of bone, the pinky snaps off, never to be part of Brock again. “Fucking hell! I had nothing to do with it!” he yells, pissing me off further. I’m ready to go for the next finger in line when my phone vibrates in my pocket. Standing, I toss the dismembered digit to the floor and walk out of the kill shed, uncaring what any of my brothers say about my abrupt exit.

I don’t bother glancing at the phone before I answer it, only I don’t get to say anything because the whimper on the other side makes the blood on my veins roll to a stop.

“Sage?” Her soft, broken voice brings my fist to my mouth, and I bite down to stop myself from reacting too brash.

“Brook, baby, where are you? Are you okay?”

“I don’t—”

“She’s alive. For now,” Wells’ weaselly voice cuts her off. “Meet us at the mill. Just you,” he barks out, then hangs up before I can yell out my threats.